


crybaby

by towokuwusatsuwu



Category: HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Established Relationship, Introspection, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Movie: End of Sky, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 22:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15034301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: in the wake of an unexpected defeat, takano and hirai are forced to pick up the pieces while ranmaru lies unconscious. takano is pragmatic about everything and hirai is always overly emotional.they get by okay, in the end.





	crybaby

Takano Masato has been a member of Doubt for years, and he has seen Ranmaru bloody in triumph, lips bruised and torn, knuckles mottled black and blue as he takes down opponent after opponent. The reputation he earned himself was of a man so unhinged and violent that triggering his anger was a death sentence, and Rocky of the White Rascals would have been no different. Takano believes this, even now, even watching Zenshin deliver kick after stomp to Ranmaru’s prone and battered body, hoping against hope the fur does _something,_ _anything,_ to soften the blows. He’s already taken so many today.

Against his will, his feet take him backward. Not far, only a few feet from his original position, not like the members who rush past him, shadows weaving between the S.W.O.R.D. gangs, desperate to escape the yakuza standing in front of them now. The contrast between them all is laughable, the finely dressed gangsters with their rings and chains and pressed suits versus the gang members in different colors, all of them sharing the red of blood, the blue of bruises.

In front of him, Hirai is motionless. Except. Except each of Ranmaru’s pained groans, strained sounds of anguish, makes Hirai’s shoulders twitch and shudder, and Takano can only imagine the expression on his face. But Hirai does not move, does not back away or try to run, and this grounds Takano, and keeps him from trying to make an escape with the rest of their gang. He is ashamed of himself for thinking about running away in the first place.

Leaving Ranmaru behind is not, and has never been, an option.

In retrospect, he will owe Sannoh Rengokai for distracting the Zenshin Group from Ranmaru because when the men disperse, they leave Ranmaru behind, his coat pooled out behind him, too much like brackish blood for comfort. Hirai moves first, staggering on unsteady legs to fall in a heap at Ranmaru’s side, hands tentatively reaching for him. Takano follows him, a little more sure on his feet, on high alert for any and all threats to the two men on the ground.

If anyone comes near either of them, there will be no mercy. Not now.

“Ranmaru.” Hirai’s voice is a rasp, rough and throaty, his fingers sinking into soft fur, shaking oh-so-gently. “Ranmaru. Ranmaru,  _ please… _ ”

Takano turns at the sound of Hirai’s soft plea, coming to stand over him, wincing at the sight of Ranmaru’s face. There’s blood on his mouth, between his teeth, running down the side of his scalp, and there is no telling what Zenshin’s rough treatment has done to him, what it must have worsened. The thought makes Takano’s blood boil, because  _ who _ do they think they are to treat Ranmaru like this? Kuryu are complacent while Doubt fights, and they think—

“Masato?” Hirai’s voice is so small, so fragile. “Masato, he’s not answering me. He’s not moving.”

Later, there will be time for anger. Now, Takano kneels on the grimy floor of the warehouse and slips a hand beneath the soft red of Ranmaru’s coat, slipping a hand against his ribs to search for the beat of his heart, fingers against his throat to check for a pulse, palm hovering over his mouth until he can feel the soft puff of Ranmaru’s breath against his skin. He might be out cold, the pain enough to knock him from the conscious world, but he is alive, and if they can patch him up, he will survive this battle and keep fighting. Ranmaru would never die so easily on them.

“He’s fine.” Takano touches Hirai’s shoulder, unsurprised when Hirai leans heavily into his side, his breath already hitching. “We’ll take him home and bandage him up. He’ll be fine.”

Hirai bites down on his lower lip, winces and lets it go. He’s taken a hit or two to the face, the corner of his mouth flushed and bruised. “Should we take him to a hospital? Just in—”

“No. Ranmaru hates hospitals.” Takano still remembers the first time he ever suggested Ranmaru should visit a proper doctor, the way Ranmaru shot him down instantly because the questions, the prodding, is never worth it. Because Ranmaru is not what anyone expects, and the harsh words leave him rawer, more wounded, than any injury ever has. “We’ll take him home and take care of him there. If that doesn’t work, maybe the ER.”

“Are you sure?” Hirai takes him by the arm, tugs at the sleeve of his jacket insistently.

Takano takes a deep breath, resisting the urge to shake Hirai off, to give into the annoyance slowly building inside of him. “I’m sure. Trust me on this. I’ve known him longer than you.”

Hirai is upset, and he has every right to be upset, and Takano needs to be slow and patient with him, not bite his head off for the very real fear coursing through him right now. In all of the years Takano has known Ranmaru, he has never seen Ranmaru like this before. There have been fights, and injuries, broken bones and blood spilled, but Ranmaru had always come out victorious, cackling between complaints that Takano was too rough with his injuries, or that the alcohol salve stung too much. He was never beaten so far down, hurt so badly, in vain.

“Should I go get the car?” Hirai asks, tugging Takano’s sleeve again.

“Yes. Go get the car.” They parked not far from the warehouse, joining the rest of Doubt to walk in, but Takano wanted the car nearby just in case. There was no telling if they would need it or not, and even if Ranmaru scoffed at him, it was worth it to have it now.

Though he is exhausted and hurt, Hirai bolts from the warehouse, a slight limp in his step, and Takano tells himself to take deep breaths, to not let his vision bleed red. Of course, Hirai was bound to end up sustaining injuries in a fight so widespread, with so many combatants, but the reality of the situation is unpleasant. For Doubt to have lost, Takano can stomach that. Having to take his injured boys home to take care of them, though, that is unacceptable, and when he has a moment, he will have a list prepared of everyone to get back for this.

For now, though, he gathers Ranmaru in his arms and smoothes his fingers through Ranmaru’s hair. There is blood drying in the black locks, and in the red fur of his coat, but his breathing is steady and his skin is warm to the touch. It takes a moment to figure out how to pick him up without leaving the coat behind, because Ranmaru clings to his fur and would kill Takano for leaving it behind the moment he regains consciousness. By the time Hirai pulls their car into the warehouse, Takano is standing with Ranmaru cradled against his chest.

“You should drive.” Hirai steps out of the car, and the limp is more pronounced now. “It was hurting me to hit the brakes too much. I’m sorry, Masato, I—”

“Don’t apologize. I can drive. Get the back door so I can lie him down.” The pitiful sound of Hirai’s voice should not be upsetting him so much, and yet.

Hirai pulls his lip between his teeth again, wincing but leaving it in place, as he opens the back door and stands by nervously, watching Takano maneuver Ramaru into the backseat. He wants to tell Hirai to just get in the car and let him work, but he doesn’t have it in him to snap right now. Seeing Hirai this worried about Ranmaru makes Takano feel physically ill because these days, Hirai has never been worried about anything. He’s been  _ happier, _ or at least it seems so.

“You’re going to chew your lip off if you keep that up.” Takano straightens, shoves his fingers into Hirai’s mouth to free his lip. There are already teeth indents in the tender skin, and he smoothes his thumb over them gently. “Don’t, or you’re going to end up hurting yourself.”

Hirai sniffles, and Takano’s fingers drift higher up, tracing the line of his cheekbone down to his jaw. “Sorry. Can we go now? I think all the others have cleared out.”

“Yes, we can go home.” Takano slips his hand behind Hirai’s neck, pulling him closer to press a kiss to his forehead, the best he can do right now.

The drive home is a longer one than usual, the silence punctuated only by the soft hitches of Hirai’s breath, the sniffling, the sure signs he’s going to be crying soon. Takano knows he needs to be prepared for that eventuality because Hirai is a crier, and an ugly one at that, swollen eyes and red blotchy skin, high-pitched keens and sobs so violent it sounds like they are being torn from his throat from deep down in his chest. It goes hand in hand with his bratty behavior and smart mouth, a guess Takano made when they first met that was confirmed not long after.

Hirai will cry over Ranmaru. When Takano has to expose all of his injuries in order to treat them properly, Hirai will break down. He needs to be prepared for this.

For now, though, Hirai walks ahead of him into the house, turning on the lights while Takano gathers Ranmaru up from the backseat, holding him close and not too tight so he doesn’t aggravate any of Ranmaru’s injuries. He’s carried Ranmaru in his arms before, so this is not exactly a new situation. He’s carried Ranmaru home from fights where a twisted ankle or tweaked knee took him down but not out, or because Ranmaru wanted to be carried and Takano is always easy to convince. Truth be told, he might,  _ might _ , be wrapped around Ranmaru’s finger.

But Hirai is, too. They’re at least in this together.

He carries Ranmaru straight up to the bedroom, knowing that by the time he undresses him and bandages him, he will likely be too sore to carry him any longer. Hirai hovers in the doorway, chewing on the sleeve of his jacket, his soft brown eyes hollow and damp, the tip of his nose already turning red. Takano says a prayer for patience and pulls the red coat off, setting it aside, and Ranmaru looks so unimpressive without it. He comes off as this larger than life figure, frightening, awe-inspiring. He’s just a man underneath it all.

“Scissors,” Takano says, and Hirai gives him a blank look, sleeve still caught between his teeth. “Scissors, sweetheart, please? I’m not pulling the shirt off over his head.”

Hirai spits his sleeve out, and his voice is almost inaudible. “Okay. One minute.”

He returns with the scissors dutifully and sits on the edge of the bed, watching as Takano cuts Ranmaru’s black sweater off of him from the hem to the high neck, the black fabric parting easily beneath the blades. If Ranmaru has broken ribs, or sore shoulders, then Takano will only make them worse by trying to take the shirt off of him traditionally, and he isn’t willing to do that. Ranmaru has plenty of black clothing, and this shirt is hardly special to him. He probably has one or two more just like it if he likes the style of it so much.

For good measure, he cuts the sleeves too, not caring how many pieces the shirt ends up in as long as it’s off of Ranmaru’s body. It’s only when he sets the scissors aside and splays the fabric open, picking the ruined pieces off of Ranmaru’s skin, that he sees the extent of his injuries.

“Oh. Oh, oh no.” Hirai’s voice quavers and he stuffs his fist in his mouth, his eyes filling with tears instantly, teeth sinking into his own skin.

The bruises are everywhere. Takano feels sick at the sight of all of them, the evidence of Zenshin’s unfair punishment; the fur had done little to protect Ranmaru then. There are ugly bruises on his ribs and abdomen, on his chest, and something about seeing that soft skin mottled in black and blue has Takano’s fists clenching, his hands shaking. Ranmaru is not a good man, none of them are, but  _ this? _ Is uncalled for. He’s going to get the bastard back for it.

Hirai whines, high-pitched and pitiful.

“I’m so sorry.” Takano runs his fingers down the side of Ranmaru’s face as carefully as he can. “We should have stepped in instead of standing there. I’m so sorry, Ranmaru.”

Guilt gnaws at his gut. Hadn’t he backed away from the sight of Ranmaru at Zenshin’s mercy while Hirai stood there? He was going to run. Neither of them intervened. They had watched their leader, their lover, crumple at the feet of a monster and had done nothing about it. What the fuck is wrong with them? Ranmaru should kill them when he wakes up.

Takano leaves Hirai to watch over Ranmaru while he retrieves the first aid supplies they have from the bedroom, dumping it at the foot of the bed before going downstairs to the kitchen. His hands go quickly numb from shoving ice cubes into plastic zip bags, but the worst of the swelling and bruising might be easily dealt with if he just covers Ranmaru in enough ice. Moving around is going to be impossible for him, but any comfort at all might help.

Hirai is working himself up to a fit, gulping air, no longer biting his fist but hugging himself, gripping himself so tightly it has to hurt. Takano doesn’t have time to deal with him right now, has to set to work taking care of Ranmaru. None of his ribs are broken, because Takano knows what a broken rib feels like; he presses his hands to Ranmaru’s tender bruised skin and checks each one, apologizing mentally every time he has to touch him.

“M-Masato.” Hirai’s voice breaks on his name and Takano looks at him, waiting for him to finish. “H-He’s so hurt, muh-maybe we should take him to the hospital—”

“No.” Takano’s voice is form, and Hirai’s face crumples. “Hirai, don’t you—”

“He’s hurt!” Hirai wails at him, and the force of his words, the volume of his voice, has Takano reeling back for just a moment. His beautiful brown eyes swim with tears that drip down his cheeks, fat droplets that leave clear paths on his skin. “Look at him. All those bruises, even on his—- He’s so hurt, I can’t… It’s so hard to—”

Takano tells himself to remain calm, picking up one of the bags of ice, carefully arranging it on Ranmaru’s chest. He’s touched Ranmaru intimately a thousand times over, the first time at Ranmaru’s insistent urging, the comments that he wasn’t made of  _ glass, _ and if Takano was a real man he’d just  _ touch _ , but touching him now, while he’s so vulnerable, feels wrong. He does his best to touch as little of Ranmaru’s chest as he can while he covers the rest of the bruises.

“I know, Hirai.” His voice is low, measured. “But you’re going to have to deal with it. Ranmaru’s already suffering enough, isn’t he? You want him dealing with some quack who’s going to keep calling him a girl to his face? You think he needs to put up with that shit right now?”

Hirai’s lower lip wobbles and he lowers his head, shakes it slowly. “N-no.”

It might be mean to be so rough with his feelings right now, but Takano has to put Ranmaru first, at least this once, because the thought of turning him over to the care of doctors who will only disrespect him, his struggle and his pain— It isn’t worth it. Unless he absolutely needs medical attention, they will do everything they can to help him themselves. Takano finishes with the bags of ice and moves on to the bloodier wounds, soaking a washcloth in alcohol so he can clean each one, no doubt dirtied from the state of the warehouse.

He might not be a doctor, but he has practice. The cut on Ranmaru’s head is shallow enough, so Takano wipes it clean and bandages it with the utmost care and precision, as much as is at his disposal. On the edge of the bed, Hirai mops his face with his sleeve, whimpering when the fabric scrapes his skin, already raw from his tears.

When Takano has finished with Ranmaru’s torso, he works the slick leather of his pants down his legs so he can check him there for injuries. Ranmaru refuses to wear anything under the leather, insistent that it’s too tight for any undergarments of any time. There are some bruises here and there on his legs, most likely sustained from fighting, and one particularly ugly bruise on his inner thigh twists Takano’s lips into an ugly grimace.

“It’s not fair!” Hirai surges up from the bed, his face a mess of tears and snot, his gaze imploring. “He’s in such bad shape. I don’t care if the doctors are bad, we’ll just yell at them or something, he needs to—”

Takano’s patience snaps. “Hirai, shut the fuck up! I’m trying to help him. I don’t see you doing shit to help him, you’re just sitting here throwing a tantrum.”

“I’m not!” Hirai protests, but he stamps his foot and that proves the point, if anything.

“Get out.” Takano points to the door, ignoring the heartbroken expression on Hirai’s face. “Just go. I’m going to finish taking care of Ranmaru, you go… I don’t care what. Leave. Now.”

Hirai storms out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Takano counts to twenty to calm himself down, then returns to taking care of Ranmaru. The damage to his legs is less, and Takano feels like a pervert for examining the soft skin between them just to make sure there had been no attempted low blows, knowing all too well that they’d hurt just the same even if Ranmaru doesn’t have the expected anatomy. But there is nothing, and he breathes a sigh of relief, covers Ranmaru with a sheet, and goes to find Hirai.

When Hirai first joined Doubt— dragging a White Rascal in each hand, both of them unconscious, so damned proud of himself— Takano hated him. He hated Hirai and his princely attitude, his mouth, his unwillingness to get dirty when the job called for it. Time changed the latter, turning Hirai into an excellent fighter able to hold his own in a fight, and over time Takano developed a stubborn respect for him that blossomed into a partnership, and then more. When Ranmaru was taken from them, it was easy to lead Doubt with Hirai at his side.

Ranmaru sent him out on a mission once, just him and a few lackeys, nothing particularly dangerous or unusual about it all. Hirai, though, seemed to have missed the memo on what being a member of Doubt entailed and worried himself sick over whether or not Takano would return alive, eventually upsetting himself so much he ended up bursting into tears at Ranmaru’s apartment, blubbering like a baby. When Takano returned to tell Ranmaru that everything had gone according to plan, Hirai was curled up against Ranmaru’s side, his cheeks damp and blotchy, nuzzled into the then-soft black of Ranmaru’s fur coat.

At the time, the quality was one Takano wanted him to drop instantly. If he was going to be a member of Doubt, he had to be stronger. Their business was not pretty; what they did required a strong stomach and Hirai was fragile, and delicate, and not nearly as ready for everything as he thought he was. When Takano voiced this to Ranmaru, Ranmaru’s reaction had been instant.

_ If you want him to stop crying, then you’re going to have to hurt him so badly he runs out of tears to cry. If you want him to be tough, you’ll have to cut him until he scars. You think you can do that? Then by all means, go for it. _

In the end, Takano was never able to go through with it. Ranmaru was unbothered by Hirai’s behavior, seemed to think it was charming more than anything else, content to wipe the tears away and croon until Hirai was calm in his arms. It was the only time Takano saw Ranmaru be tender with another human being before, and he committed each instance to memory as the three of them were drawn ever closer by the ties that bound them.

The back door is open, the screen door closed, allowing Takano to hear the soft broken sounds of Hirai crying to himself. The sound twists in his chest and guilt floods him. Taking out his frustration on Hirai is not acceptable, and he knows that, and yet he still let himself lose control. He puts water on the stove to boil so he can make tea, picking up a box of tissues from the living room, something they only bought regularly when they moved into this house together.

Outside, the night is quiet, the air cool. Hirai sits in a chair, cramped into such a small space, knees drawn up to his chest and looking properly miserable. Takano sets the mug of tea on the small rickety table between two of the chairs and kneels in front of Hirai.

“Hey, baby.” His voice is low and soft, and Hirai hiccups softly down at him. “I’m sorry for snapping at you like I did. I know you’re worried about Ranmaru.”

He hooks his fingers in the backs of Hirai’s knees, drawing his legs down out of the chair, reaching up to gently brush some of the tears off of Hirai’s cheeks. His face is hot to the touch, but he leans into Takano’s hands and whimpers softly. Takano helps him blow his nose, then leans up to kiss him, tasting the faint coppery tang of blood and the salt of his tears. It hurts to know Hirai has been sitting out here alone crying, and it hurts worse because Takano was the one who sent him out here instead of comforting him.

“I brought you tea,” he says, taking Hirai’s hands in his, rubbing his fingers gently.

Hirai sniffles. “Thank you. I’m sorry for yelling. You’re right. Ranmaru wouldn’t want to go to the hospital if it meant them talking wrong about him.”

“I still shouldn’t have yelled at you.” Takano kisses his fingers, then sets the mug of tea in his hands, watching as Hirai sips, careful of his bruised mouth. “Come on inside. We’ll wait for him to wake up together, okay? Nothing’s broken, he’s just battered.”

“Takes a lot more to hurt Ranmaru for real,” Hirai whispers.

The house is not as large as Doubt headquarters, not by any stretch of the imagination, and it’s not nearly as opulent either. Ranmaru insisted they needed to have a simple house so he could come home and rest at the end of the day, wanting to turn his mind off so he could relax, and neither of them saw an argument to be had with that. Takano turns on some late night television show, not paying attention at all, while Hirai curls up beside him.

They drop their coats on the floor, too tired to put them somewhere else. Hirai, like Ranmaru, looks all the smaller without the coat in place, and twice as pitiful as he already does with his pink cheeks and red eyes. Within minutes of his head lying on Takano’s shoulder, he dozes off, both arms wrapped around Takano’s so that Takano can’t move without him knowing. Had he been anyone else, Takano would have hated him for being so clingy.

But he isn’t anyone else.

The sound of movement upstairs catches his attention a few hours later. Hirai is heavy at his side, drooling slightly on the shoulder of his t-shirt, when he hears a faint groan and the sound of footsteps. Ranmaru comes down the stairs hard, not trying for quiet at all, having only thrown on a pair of boxers before leaving the bedroom. The swelling has gone down considerably in several areas, though the bruises still look bad. He stretches, arching his back, and Takano shakes his head and looks away.

“I feel like shit,” he announces. “And I’m starving. Is Hirai asleep?”

“He was worried about you.” Takano shakes Hirai gently, chuckling when Hirai whines and bats at his shoulder. “Sweetheart, wake up. Ranmaru’s up and moving around.”

Hirai’s eyes snap open at these words and he leans around Takano to see for himself, then bounds off of the couch like an excitable puppy dog. He stops just short of Ranmaru, not quite pouncing on him, taking him gently in his arms, careful of all his bruises and injuries, nuzzling against the side of his neck. Ranmaru leans their heads together, runs his fingers through Hirai’s hair, the dark strands and the soft pale gray dye.

“My crybaby,” he says, fondness dripping from every syllable.

Takano leaves them be for the moment, heading for the kitchen so he can make something easy to eat, wary of the bruises around Hirai’s mouth, around Ranmaru’s, and the blood that had been in Ranmaru’s teeth. The last thing he wants to do is make something that needs significant chewing, something that might make their jaws ache, make it hard for them to eat at all. He can hear Ranmaru and Hirai talking, though he doesn’t pick up the words so much as the easy rhythm of the conversation.

They join him not long after. Hirai pours tea for Ranmaru and Takano watches them over his shoulder, watches the way Hirai folds Ranmaru’s fingers around the mug, touches his arms and shoulders so carefully like he’s afraid to hurt him. But the adoration shining through in his dark eyes is impossible to ignore and Takano shakes his head at the pair of them.

They’re his. He’s glad for that much, at least.

He sets food on the table and it distracts Hirai enough for Takano to have a moment with Ranmaru, touching the side of his head, careful of the bandage. “How bad do you hurt?”

“It feels like an elephant stomped on my chest.” Ranmaru flexes the fingers of one hand, flinching. “Rocky fucked up my hand, but I don’t think it’s broken. But it fucking  _ hurts. _ But I’m not dead so I guess that counts for something.”

“Dumbass. Don’t pick fights if yakuza are going to show up.” Takano kisses him and Ranmaru leans up into him, a hand gripping the front of his shirt. “You made Hirai cry, you know.”

Ranmaru makes a face at him. “Don’t blame that on me. I was knocked out. Not my fault.”

Takano kisses him again for good measure before they all sit down to eat together. Ranmaru looks like death warmed over, and Hirai is still bearing the obvious signs of his crying fit, but it’s okay. They’ll figure out where to go from here just like they always do.

They have each other. That has to count for something, right?

**Author's Note:**

> doubt are definitely very bad guys and irredeemable people but i'm intrigued by the relationship between takano and hirai and ranmaru, the way they handed the reins back over to him, how they fought for his amusement and such. don't take this as "doubt are good and did nothing wrong" it's just very much the villains picking up the pieces after they lose.
> 
> it has also occurred to me hirai doesn't have a first name (last name?) but tbh takano's could be way off he was just credited as takano masato in the credits a few times but not all the times so shrug emoji.


End file.
